


Lost Time

by GrnEydDvl



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arranged Marriage, But with a happy ending, Even though you want to, M/M, Malcolm Grimm is a terrible father, No seriously you don't hate this one, Not Wayward Son Compliant, OCs you don't hate, Romance, because I love angst, because I love happy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21639700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrnEydDvl/pseuds/GrnEydDvl
Summary: It's been five years since Simon Snow and Baz-Grimm Pitch left for Christmas break on less than great terms. Then Simon defeated the Humdrum under mysterious circumstances and everyone went on with their lives. Countless breakups and an arranged marriage later, Baz wonders if he will ever stop being in love with Simon bloody Snow. And Simon wonders why his girlfriend's green eyes bother him so much. SnowBaz
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 16
Kudos: 126





	1. Two Breakups and an Engagement

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Here’s another SnowBaz fic, because I can’t help it :) 
> 
> So, this fic is not Wayward Son compliant in any way. Assume that book never happened. It also diverges slightly from Carry On canon, but I won’t spoil how because it's important to the fic.
> 
> Enjoy!

BAZ

“We need to break up.” Dmitri drops his mug and it shatters, spilling coffee all over the table. It drips into his lap and onto the floor, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. It’s a whole scene. I try not to roll my eyes. It is technically my fault. I spell the coffee away and try again.

“You’re a nice bloke, but I just don’t think this is working out,” I say as coolly as I can, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in my chest that has nothing to do with the man in front of me and everything to do with how much I hate myself.

“But I thought…I mean, we were getting on so well. I thought this was going great.” I’m not sure what Dmitri defines as “great,” but it certainly wasn’t our relationship. Unless you count three months of me making excuses every time he asked to spend the night, or pointedly ignoring him whenever he mentioned meeting my family. Dmitri’s not a bad bloke. He’s Greek, so I can practice my language skills, and attractive in that swarthy Mediterranean way. He’s a lawyer like me and a decently powerful mage, so we have plenty to talk about. But the longer we were together, the more suffocating it became. He wanted more out of this relationship. I didn’t.

It’s not him. Really, I don’t mind his company. And kissing him isn’t all bad. It’s pleasant enough. But he’s not Simon Snow. And that’s the problem. 

That will always be the fucking problem.

I hate myself for how much I still think about Simon Snow. How much I still love him, even after all this time. It’s been five years. Five bloody years since Snow defeated the Humdrum and killed the mage. And Ebb the goatherd. Or the mage killed the goatherd. Everyone’s a little unclear on the details. Snow was the only witness, and I know better than anyone that he gets tongue-tied at the best of times. Still, it would be nice if he could have at least explained how he took down the biggest threat to magic and killed the worst mage this country has ever seen. But his story never seemed to make sense, so eventually the Coven gave up trying. At least, that’s what I read in the Record. The last time I saw Simon Snow, we were fighting (because of course we were.) About _Agatha Wellbelove_ of all things (because _of course_ we were.) Snow all but kicked me out of our room when I told him I wasn’t interested in his stupid girlfriend, I went home for Christmas, and I haven’t seen him since. He didn’t come back to Watford after that.

I graduated Watford top of our class and started the law program at LSE. I tried to forget Simon Snow. How much I loved him. I really did try. I dated. I’ve been with Dmitri the longest, but there were others. But they all felt wrong. Like there was a Snow shaped hole in my life that I was never going to fill.

Five years later, and I’m still hopelessly in love with Simon Snow. I think I always will be.

“Is there someone else?” Dmitri asks. He has tears in his eyes. Crowley, I didn’t realize he liked me _this_ much. _I_ don’t like me this much.

“No.” Yes.

“Then why? Aren’t I enough for you?” I try to be patient. I am hurting him.

“It’s not you, it’s me. I’m the worst. And you deserve better.” Because he does.

“But I thought you were finally going to let me meet your family this Christmas.” I sigh. And stand to leave. Because I’m a monster, and I am done with this conversation.

“That was never going to happen. I’m sorry.”

“But I…I love you Baz!” I freeze. Great snakes, I hate breakups.

“You’ll get over it.” Because he will. Normal people do. Only fools like me get so hung up on what they can’t have that they let it ruin their entire lives.

Merlin and Morgana, I’m going to die alone.

SIMON

“I’m going to die alone.” Penny sits back on the couch and rolls her eyes.

“For snake’s sake, Simon, stop being so dramatic. It was one break up. It’s not the end of the world.” I know it’s not. Lingyi and I were never a great fit. He was a decent guy, and an excellent cook, but all we really talked about was food. And we were only together for a few weeks, so it’s not like I was all that invested. But still.

“This isn’t about the breakup.” Penny glares at me. “Ok fine, maybe it is, but _why_ does everyone keep breaking up with me? Am I really that terrible of a boyfriend?” After Agatha left me, I dated a bunch of people. Girls and boys (Penny suggested I give blokes a try a few years ago, and she wasn’t wrong, I like them fine.) I’ve put so much effort into every single relationship. But nothing seems to stick. Something’s always missing. Everyone I date just seems wrong for me, somehow. Like, we can’t connect. And every time I kiss anyone, a little voice in the back of my head tells me that this is wrong, this isn’t what it’s supposed to feel like. I don’t know how I’m supposed to know what it’s supposed to feel like, but I clearly haven’t found it yet. And in the end, they all break up with me. Every single time.

“No one tries harder than you to be a good boyfriend,” Penny says, giving me a reassuring look. “You just haven’t found the right person yet.”

“And I don’t think I’m ever going to.” I slump over the arm of the couch. “I give up! No more dating.”

“Maybe you’ll meet someone at the Christmas party.” Penny is insisting I go with her to her office Christmas party (she works in publishing.) I groan.

“Do I have to go to that thing? I’m nursing a broken heart here.” Penny rolls her eyes again.

“You’re not nursing a broken anything. Lingyi was a dud. You can definitely do better. And yes, you have to go.”

“Why?”

“Because _I_ have to go,” she says, as if that settles the matter.

“I always feel so stupid at your office things. Everyone’s so posh and smart, and I’m just a lowly martial arts instructor.” 

“You own your own studio. I think that’s fairly impressive.”

“To you maybe.” I opened the studio a few years ago. It was Penny’s idea (because all of my good ideas are Penny’s ideas). I teach hand to hand combat and sword arts. It’s been fairly successful actually. Fighting was the only thing I was ever good at, and it feels nice to pass on something the Mage taught me. 

Penny gives me a soft look.

“You don’t have to go if you really don’t want to.” I sigh. Penny’s too good to me sometimes.

“No, I’ll go. I won’t make you face your posh, smart coworkers alone.” Penny grins.

“There’s the man I fell in love with.” We both laugh.

BAZ

I have a week off work for Christmas, so I head to Oxford to spend it with my family (Dmitri was never invited.) Christmas has been a bit of a subdued affair ever since the hole opened over our home in Hampshire. Something about the anniversary always makes my father sullen and my stepmother anxious. I don’t remember much about that Christmas, it’s all a bit hazy, but my father’s eyes flash dangerously whenever it’s mentioned, so as an unspoken family rule we all just stopped talking about it and let it hang in the air like a dark cloud. 

Welcome to Christmas with the Grimm’s.

After dinner my first night home, my father calls me into his study. It’s smaller than his one in Hampshire, but still lined with books and impeccably clean. A giant oak desk occupies most of the room. I think my father likes how imposing it makes him look, but I’ve never said as much.

“Scotch?” my father says, offering me a glass. I take it and settle in a high backed armchair, swirling the amber liquid in my glass.

“So,” my father says, lacing his fingers together and giving me a neutral look. “How’s work?”

“Fine,” I reply, sitting up straight and mimicking his facial expression. “I just closed a large case.”

My father nods and looks down into his Scotch. His expression hasn’t changed much, but I can tell he’s getting uncomfortable by the way his fingers stroke the side of his glass.

“And are you currently seeing anyone?” All the blood in me runs cold. My father and I do not discuss my dating life. He’s still in utter denial that I’m gay, and I feel no need to rub it in his face.

“No,” I say, grateful that I decided to end things with Dmitri when I did. I hate lying to my father. He nods again and we sit in silence for a few minutes, sipping Scotch. I know my father has more to say, but I don’t press him. Finally he clears his throat.

“I assume you have heard of the Perrault’s.” Of course I’ve heard of the Perrault’s. They’re an old French family. Almost as old as the Pitch’s and just as highly esteemed. They had connections to the French royal court back in the day and are still one of the wealthiest families in magickal Europe. They’ve also been feuding with the Grimm’s for generations (mages take their fairy tales _very_ seriously.)

“Of course,” I say, wondering where on earth this could be going.

“Pierre Perrault, the head of the family, contacted me last week, hoping our families could broker a truce.”

“That’s wonderful.” And it is. Memory runs deep in the magickal community, and feuds run deeper. Truces between old warning families are few and far between. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” My father looks away from me.

“Actually, there is. You see, Pierre has a daughter.” I almost drop my scotch glass. Years of practice is the only reason my expression remains bored and neutral, but it takes more effort than it should. My heart is pounding in my chest. I know where this is going. And I do _not_ want it to go there. My father either doesn’t notice my discomfort, or pointedly ignores it. He continues.

“Pierre and I agree that the best way to solidify this truce is with a marriage alliance. I’ve been told that Rosalie is a lovely girl. She’s in her eighth year at Watford and is well bred and well mannered. Do you remember her?” I do. Vaguely. I knew who she was, of course. I knew all the members of the old families at Watford. But the last time I saw Rosalie Perrault, she was thirteen years old, sporting pigtails and acne. Hardly marriage material even if I wasn’t gay.

“A bit. I haven’t seen her since I graduated Watford. I’m sure she’s changed.” It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to run screaming from the room. I wish I had hunted before this conversation. My throat feels unnaturally dry.

“You are the only Grimm of appropriate age who is not already spoken for. I know it’s a big decision, but I was hoping, for the sake of the family, you would consider it.” My expression sours. I can’t help it. Haven’t I done enough for the sake of the family? Aren’t I hiding that I’m both gay and a vampire for the sake of the family? Didn’t I spend eight bloody years antagonizing Simon Snow when all I wanted to do was snog him _for the sake of the family_? I want to cry. This isn’t fair. Any of it. My whole life is just one big fucking tragedy. 

I take a deep breath and school my features. Breaking down in front of my father will not help the situation. I can break down later. Right now, I need to think. I could get out of this. My father wouldn’t make me go through with something like this if I really fought him on it. I could say that this is the fucking twenty first century and arranged marriages went out of style ages ago. I could tell him that marrying the daughter of the head of the Perrault family to a vampire is not the best way to engender trust. I could lie and say, yes, I actually do have a boyfriend, because I’m fucking _gay_ , and he bloody well has to accept it. I could remind him that a marriage of this sort will require children and being a gay vampire does not bode well for that. And even if I could manage to sleep with this girl (I’m honestly not sure if I can, but admittedly I’ve never tried,) and even if we _did_ have children (I’m pretty convinced vampires can’t,) does he really want me to sic some half vampire mage babies on the world? Crowley, I don’t even want to think about that.

But then I remember Dmitri. And Pratt. And Nathanial. And all my other failed relationships. And I remember that I’m never going to marry for love, because I’m already in love and that’s never going to change. No matter how hard I try, no matter how many years pass, or how many guys I date, I’m always going to be in love with Simon Snow. So, it’s either die alone or marry for the sake of the family. I suppose it could be worse, but I’m having a hard time picturing how at the moment.

“I’ll do it father,” I say, my mouth horribly dry. “I’ll marry her. For the sake of the family.” My father almost looks proud of me. If he’s feeling guilty that he just asked his son to sacrifice a lifetime of happiness for his political agenda, he doesn’t show it.

“Excellent. I’ll inform Pierre.” My father continues to explain that the wedding will be planned for summer, shortly after Rosalie graduates Watford, but I’m only half listening. I excuse myself and somehow make my way to my room with my head held high. It’s only after the door is closed and locked, with magic (Mordelia never did learn to knock,) that I allow myself to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you know who Perrault is :)


	2. New Loves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so glad someone knows who Perrault is!! For those of you who don’t, Charles Perrault wrote fairy tales for the French court. Some of the most famous fairy tales (like Little Red Riding Hood, Sleeping Beauty, and the Disney version of Cinderella) came from him. (There are older versions and versions from other cultures, but his are the most famous in the European canon.) 
> 
> I thought, who better to feud with the Grimms? In case you don’t know, the Grimm brothers are the most famous writers/collectors of fairy tales in European history.
> 
> Sorry, I’m a fairy tale buff. On to Simon and Baz!

SIMON

Penny’s office party is just as awkward as I was expecting. I stand in the corner, drinking eggnog and eating holiday cookies, trying not to look as out of place as I feel. I wish Penny had warned me that everyone here would be wearing a suit. I feel ridiculous in my jeans and jumper.

“You should try to meet some people,” Penny says encouragingly. “There are a lot of new interns.”

“I’m not really…” and then I see her. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen (even more than Agatha, and _that_ is _saying_ something.) Ivory skin, silky black hair, and deep green eyes. She’s tall, almost as tall as me, with an athletic build that doesn’t detract at all from the sensual way her hips sway as she walks across the room to greet someone. I tug on Penny’s sleeve.

“Who’s that?” I ask, trying not to stare and failing. Penny looks over to where I’m pointing and frowns.

“Who, Annaliese? She’s fine. A bit high on herself, but not a bad person fundamentally. I always thought she looked a lot like Baz.”

Fucking Baz Grimm-Pitch. You’d think I’d be relieved to not have to see him anymore after eight years of animosity, but I still think about him more than I care to admit. I have no idea what he got up to after Watford, but I wonder. Did he end up with some high-powered job to feed his oversized ego? Does he still play the violin? Is he still plotting my downfall? Is he still a tosser? Sometimes, when I wake up from a nightmare, in those moments before I calm down and remember where I am, I look for him frantically, wondering where he is and why I can’t hear him breathing. (It’s weird. I haven’t even told Penny. I think she’d make me go back to therapy.)

I look at Annaliese again, and I can see what Penny means. She _does_ look like Baz. But Baz’s nose was longer. And bent (my fault). Plus he was taller. And his eyes were grey, not green. And Annaliese doesn’t have a widow’s peak.

Anyway, Baz or no Baz, I’m still going to talk to her. Ignoring Penny’s protests, I make my way across the room and wave.

“Hi,” I say when I have her attention. “I’m Simon.” She flashes me a smile full of brilliant white teeth.

“Hi Simon. I’m Annaliese.”

BAZ

I drive up to Watford to meet Rosalie Perrault. My _fiancé_. It still feels surreal. But not the good kind of surreal. It feels like when I was five years old, wondering if my mother was ever coming home. That kind of surreal.

It’s a lovely day, warm for January, with a light dusting of snow left over from New Years. It’s a perfect day for a drive, and I can’t even appreciate it.

I’m almost hoping that Rosalie is a troll faced horror. Like watching me marry an evil, ugly monster will finally make my father feel guilty about all this. I’m aware that that scenario would also saddle me with the worst wife in human history, but I get a kind of vindictive pleasure over picturing my father’s guilty face. I really am disturbed.

I pull up to the Watford gate and there’s a girl, who I can only assume is Rosalie, waiting for me. She is, admittedly, lovely. Her blond hair hangs over her face in loose ringlets and her crystal blue eyes crinkle as she gives me a nervous smile, dimples highlighting the light smattering of freckles in her cheeks. (Blond curls, blue eyes, and freckles. Crowley, could she look more like Snow? I swear, the world is actually out to get me. Then I remember that I’m probably going to have to sleep with her at some point. Maybe this will make it easier.) (I’m horrid, I’m aware.) Her tasteful coat (Louis Viton if I’m not mistaken) is draped over a lacy pink dress. She looks like a porcelain doll. Like I could knock her over with one finger and shatter her on the pavement. This is the woman I’m supposed to marry? She won’t survive a week with me.

I get out of the car to introduce myself. I can be a gentleman when I want to be.

“Hello,” she says, blushing furiously. “I’m Rosalie.”

“Basilton. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” We stand there awkwardly for a few, interminable seconds, then I open the car door for her. It’s not like I’ve never been on a date before.

“I thought we’d get lunch,” I say. “Is that Italian place still open?” She nods.

We drive in silence. I’m not much of a talker at the best of times, and this is not the best of times. Fortunately, Rosalie seems content to be silent and stare out the window, sneaking subtle glances at me whenever she thinks I’m not paying attention. Luckily, the only Italian place in town is nearby. It’s a ten minute drive, but it seems like hours.

We settle in at a table and I order a nice bottle of wine (because alcohol is not optional at this point.) We’re halfway through our salads when Rosalie finally breaks the silence.

“So I guess we should try to get to know each other,” she says, so quietly I almost miss it, even with my vampire ears. 

“I guess we should I try,” I say, cutting her some slack. It looks like she wants to be here about as much as I do. “Tell me about yourself.” So she does. She tells me about her two favorite pastimes, reading and painting, and I tell her about violin and football. We talk about Watford, my job, and our families. It turns out we have a surprising amount in common. We both lost our mothers young (mine from a vampire attack, hers in a car crash,) and she has two younger brothers. Her father is on the French Coven and she grew up surrounded by old family politics. We both have a love of classical spells and orchestra music.

The more we talk, the more relaxed she becomes, and I start to see more of the girl behind the nerves. She’s sweet, sharp, and patient with a strong sense of responsibility but an acute sense of self. She reminds me a lot of my stepmother. I’m surprised when the waiter brings dessert around. Have we been talking that long?

“So, what do you want to do after Watford?” I ask, tucking into my tiramisu (I’ve learned to control my fangs while eating during the last few years. It’s exhausting, but worth it.) “Besides the obvious.” I smirk a little, trying to make light of the fact that we’ll be marrying each other a few weeks after graduation. She blushes a little, but answers the question.

“I want to go to Uni to study English and French literature, but my father thinks it’s improper. It took me ages to convince him, but I won’t go if…if you don’t want me to.” She blushes again and looks down, fiddling with her fork.

“Fuck that,” I say. She jumps. I’ve been trying not to swear, for her sake, but this deserves it. “Rosalie, I signed up to be your husband, not your medieval lord and master. I know we’re having an arranged marriage, but this is still the twenty first century. You should do what you want with your life, and if that means Uni, then I’m all for it. You don’t need my permission.” Rosalie visibly relaxes, all the tension leaving her shoulders in one smooth motion.

“Thank you Basilton. This whole situation is a little strange. I honestly didn’t know what to expect from you. I’m relieved to hear you say that.”

“I think we can have a decent life together, if we try,” I say. And I mean it.

I end up visiting Rosalie almost every weekend. She’s more fun to be around then I expected, once she got over her extreme shyness. She’s incredibly bright and we spend hours discussing history, literature, music, and magic. We become fast friends. And I start to think that maybe I could have done worse. I can love Rosalie. As a friend, always. And there are worse things in the world than marrying a friend.

SIMON

Annaliese is perfect. She’s wicked smart, like Penny, and sometimes she loses me, but she thinks it’s cute when she has to explain things to me (it makes me feel like a child, but I like it when she smiles at me, so it ends up working out fine.) We both love Indian food and bad kung fu movies, and she’s not bothered at all when I yell at the characters for being horrible martial artists. She’s a Normal, which is ok with me, but it makes my wings a problem, so I’m extra careful to make sure Penny spells them away before each date. My tail’s still there, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it (we haven’t gone _that_ far yet.) Plus, she’s gorgeous. (I still think she looks like Baz, and I’m not really sure how that makes me feel, but Baz _was_ unfairly attractive.) (What, he _was_.) 

Sometimes I’m not sure she’s real. And maybe she’s not.

Just like with Agatha, maybe she’s too good to be true.

BAZ

A few months into our, whatever this is (Relationship? Courtship? Friendship?), Rosalie asks to go for a walk. The weather is pleasant, a breezy spring day, but I get the impression that her request isn’t because she wants to enjoy the sunshine. I think she just wanted to go somewhere with fewer people around. She’s wringing her hands nervously and biting her lip and it doesn’t take a genius to tell that something’s bothering her. I wonder briefly if she’s going to ask me to kiss her (I’ll do it, it’s not such a bad idea to start getting used to it), but she’s so formal and proper that I doubt that’s the issue.

“Is something wrong?” I ask. She glances around us to make sure we’re alone.

“Basilton, there’s something I think I need to tell you. About me. I wasn’t going to, but I think you should know.”

“Ok,” I say, trying to sound reassuring instead of worried. “What is it?” Rosalie takes a deep breath and looks down at her shoes.

“I’m…a lesbian.” Her words hang in the air, heavy and thick. “I know this is probably a shock to you, and I’ll still do my duty as…as your wife. I care about you enough, I can do that for you. But I thought you should know.” I gape at her as she looks up at me, scared as anything. I can’t help it. I laugh.

“Rosalie, dear, you have nothing to worry about. I’m gay.” Now it’s Rosalie’s turn to be shocked stupid. Her jaw actually drops.

“Basilton, are you serious?” I nod.

“Completely.” Rosalie starts to giggle. It quickly descends into full out laughter and the two of us laugh so hard we’re nearly doubled over.

“Well,” Rosalie says at last, wiping tears from her eyes. “That was unexpected.”

“You’re telling me. Crowley, our parents did _not_ know what they were doing when they arranged this marriage, did they?” Rosalie giggles.

“Do they know?” she asks. “Your parents.” I sneer (but not at her. At my in-denial-father.)

“They know. They just refuse to acknowledge it. Does your dad know?” Rosalie shakes her head.

“He’s so traditional. I’m afraid he’d disown me if he knew. I’ve never even had a girlfriend. I was too scared he’d find out.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. And I mean it. “Do you have someone in mind?” Rosalie blushes.

“There was a girl in my class I liked for a while. But she’s straight and has a boyfriend, and I eventually got over it. Do you have anyone? A boy you fancy?” I don’t know why I do it. Maybe it’s the absurdity of the moment. Maybe it’s because I feel I can trust her. Or maybe it’s because I think she’s the only person in my life who might actually understand. So I tell her my deepest secret (and it’s not that I’m a vampire.)

I tell her about Simon. About his disgusting table manners and supreme idiocy and inability to cast a single decent spell. About his bravery and loyalty and kindness. And how I have been hopelessly in love with him since I was fifteen.

“You never told him?” she says when I finish.

“He hated me. There was no point. If I told him I loved him, he’d probably think it was just part of some elaborate plot to bring about his downfall.”

“But that’s so sad!” She genuinely looks pained. I feel a rush of affection for her.

“Story of my life, dear. Story of my life.”


	3. An Elephant Never Forgets

BAZ

A week before the wedding, Fiona shows up, unannounced, at my flat (I moved out of hers a year ago, to be closer to work.)

“Let’s go,” she says, all bossy and commanding. “We’re getting you sozzled.”

“I told you Fiona, I don’t want a bachelor party.” Fiona never learned to take no for an answer. She grabs my arm and all but tears me out of the flat (which is impressive, considering how much stronger I am.)

“It’s not a party, it’s a drink. We’re drowning sorrows tonight kid, not celebrating the biggest mistake of your life.” She means that too. It’s the only reason I go with her.

FIONA

Merlin and Morgana, that boy is an expensive drunk. And not because he only drinks the good stuff (I can’t blame him for that.) It takes almost twice as many drinks as a normal person to get him plastered (must be that vampire constitution.) But I _finally_ get him wasted enough to ask him the hard questions. The real reason I’m letting him drink away my entire paycheck.

“So Basil, tell me why exactly you agreed to this arranged marriage ridiculousness?” He slumps forward onto the table and turns his head to look at me.

“Fiona, you’re spinning.”

"Answer the fucking question you numpty.”

“Because it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What doesn’t matter? Your happiness?”

“I’ll never be happy.”

“Don’t give me that, ‘woe is me’ shit, you know it doesn’t work with me.” He shakes his head, then holds it like he regrets it.

“I won’t be happy if I can’t have Simon Snow.” It’s like someone poured a bucket of ice water over my head. Because despite all appearances, I fucking love this useless nephew of mine.

“What does the Chosen One have to do with this?” Baz closes his eyes and presses his nose into the table.

“I still love him. Always have, always will.”

Aleister fucking Crowley.

SIMON

Annaliese and I burned hot and fizzled out. It was great for a while. Being with her makes me feel alive. I’m more attracted to her than I’ve ever been to anyone. But something still feels wrong. Her laugh is too high pitched, her eyes are the wrong color, her skin is too warm. Stupid things like that. I try to ignore them, in favor of all the amazing things, but I still can’t shake the feeling that there’s something _off_ about her.

I should have expected the breakup.

“Simon,” she says, looking at me across the table. “We need to talk.” We’re in our favorite bar, huddled in a table near the corner. The first time we snogged was at this table. I try not to think about that.

“Ok,” I say. I’ve had this conversation before. I know how this goes. But that never makes it any easier.

“I don’t think this is working out.” I look down at my hands. I agree, but it still stings.

“I care about you Simon, I really do,” she says, reaching out to take my hand. She’s warm. (Why does that _bother_ me?) “But I think this is for the best.” I nod.

“Yeah, ok.” I finally manage to look her in the eye. They’re still the wrong color. (What does that even _mean_? What’s _wrong_ with me?)

“I hope we can still be friends.” I shrug. Because that’s the only logical response to that statement. She gives me a sad smile. “Thank you for everything Simon. It really was fun.” I don’t watch her leave. I can’t. I just put my head in my hands and try not to cry.

“If you’re quite done moping, you and I need to chat.” I look up and am shocked stupid. Sitting in Annaliese’s seat is the absolute last person I ever expected to see again.

“Fiona Pitch,” I say. “What in the name of magic are you doing here?” She ignores me, pulls a cigarette out of her pocket, and lights it with her wand (this place is full of Normals, but I guess she doesn’t care. Also, I’m fairly sure this is a non-smoking bar.) She takes a long drag and blows the smoke in my face. I try not to cough.

“What do you remember about the Christmas you beat the Humdrum?” she asks without preamble. I gape at her. Fiona Pitch tracked me down to ask me about the Humdrum?

“Why do you need to know?” She jabs her cigarette at me.

“Answer the question boyo.” I’m still reeling from her sudden appearance and breaking up with Annaliese, so I do the most ridiculous thing I can think of. I tell her the truth.

“I stayed at Watford that Christmas.” I _don’t_ tell her it’s because Agatha said I would ruin Christmas if I went home with her. “On Christmas day I saw weird lights in the White Chapel, went up there and found the Humdrum. And…Ebb and the Mage. I gave the Humdrum my magic and…” I pause. This is where I’m fuzzy. I don’t really remember what happened up there. Ebb was dead and the Mage was alive, then he was dead, and the Humdrum was gone and it’s all a bit of a blur. I’m really not sure how the Mage even died. Fiona’s looking at me like she knows something I don’t. It reminds me of Baz, and it’s infuriating.

“You don’t remember, do you?” she says. “Exactly what happened up there?” I glare at her.

“What’s it to you?”

“I think the whole World of Mages is curious about what happened in that Chapel, Chosen One. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why _are_ you here?” Fiona lowers her cigarette and looks almost sad for a moment.

“To save Baz from himself.” I’m gobsmacked.

“What does Baz have to do with this?” Fiona sighs, and she almost looks tired.

“He was there, you know. In that Chapel. So was that pesky sidekick of yours. You were all there.” I’m still gobsmacked, but now I’m angry too.

“No they weren’t. I think I would remember that.” Fiona ignores me.

“You spent Christmas in Hampshire with the Grimm’s too. Before the hole opened up. And you and Basil…well, I’m not really clear on the details, but you and he started dating.” I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s the single most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.

“If this is all part of some elaborate plot…”

“This isn’t a plot,” Fiona snarls, shoving her cigarette so far into my face I can feel the heat. “I was _there_. After you three beat the Humdrum, Malcolm and I went up to your room to find Baz, and the two of you were snuggled together on his bed and he was kissing your temple. Malcolm saw red. He cast **_Lost time_** on the lot of you.”

“He…what?!” **_Lost time_** is a memory spell. It’s not an overly powerful one, but in exchange it’s highly controlled. It allows you to completely re-write several days to erase specific events without leaving the person a blank slate. It’s dangerous. And illegal.

“I’m not apologizing for him,” Fiona says. “And under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be doing this at all. But you’re the only one who can stop this nonsense.” Before I can ask her what nonsense, she slides a piece of paper across the table and levels her wand at me.

“Basil’s address,” she says, tapping the paper. “ ** _An elephant never forgets_**.” My head explodes in pain.

BAZ

I’m playing the violin. I couldn’t tell you what piece I’m playing if you held me at wand point, but right now I just need my mind blank, and the violin helps.

I’m getting married tomorrow. We had a fancy rehearsal dinner tonight and it still doesn’t feel real. Fiona didn’t even come. Said she had more important things to do. I think she’s just pissed for my sake. I did not tell her how much I appreciate that. It wouldn’t help.

I hear a knock at my door and stop playing. I want to ignore it. I’m really not in the mood to talk to anyone right now. But the knocking turns into pounding, and I figure it will be easier to just tell whoever it is to go away.

I open the door and almost faint. Because Simon Snow is standing in my doorway looking like he’s about to go off. His curls are sticking up all over the place like he’s been pulling at them, and he’s panting like he just ran a marathon. It’s the single most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.

“Baz,” he says, grinning like he just won the lottery. It does strange things to my insides. I feel like there’s an icy bonfire in my intestines.

“Snow,” I say, trying to sound bored instead of blindsided and panicked. “What are you doing here?”

“Making up for lost time.” Then he throws himself at me and suddenly I’m kissing Simon Snow. My brain blinks off.

SIMON

So _this_ is what it’s supposed to feel like.

BAZ

We tumble backwards into my flat. Simon’s kissing me like he’s drowning. I kiss him back just as desperately because _Simon Snow_ is in _my_ flat and he’s _kissing_ me. Simon grips the back of my head, forcing my face further into his, and it feels strangely familiar, but also _not_ because no one has _ever_ kissed me like _this_. Nothing has _ever_ felt like this. Like fire and desire and affection and home all mixed together. I run my hands up and down his sides as he combs his fingers through my hair, and I think I might die, right here, right now.

Simon attacks my shirt buttons like they’ve offended him. I think he tears a few but I really can’t bring myself to care at the moment. He pulls himself away from me to yank his t-shirt off, and then Simon Snow is standing in my living room in ripped jeans and no shirt. I think I stop breathing. He moves towards me again, but I hold my hand out to stop him. Because I’m self-destructive by nature, and _of course_ I’m going to ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but I have to know.

“Simon, what is happening right now?” He smirks. I want to kiss it off his face.

“I thought that was obvious.” Fuck me.

“You know what I mean. I haven’t seen you in five years and we were enemies. And you just show up and…”

“We weren’t enemies Baz. I mean, we were, but then we weren’t.” Merlin, I almost forgot how utterly frustrating this beautiful idiot could be. I want to bite him.

“You’re going to have to be a little clearer than that Snow.”

“Your dad cast **_Lost time_** on us. The day I beat the Humdrum. To make us forget that we were dating.” I’m floored.

“Seven snakes and a dragon Snow! Who told you that?”

“Your Aunt Fiona. She fixed my memories too.” I’m not sure I believe him. Because it’s completely unbelievable, and besides, that spell is unconscionable. But if it brought Simon Snow to my door, I have to know. I pull my wand out of my sleeve and point it at myself.

“ ** _An elephant never forgets_**.” A rush of memories flood into me like a deluge. Simon showing up at my house in Hampshire looking like an amnesia victim. Simon and I in a vampire bar, confronting Nicodemus about my mother. Simon kissing me in a burning forest, then again in my room. The Humdrum attacking me and Simon filling me up with fire. Simon giving his magic to the Humdrum as Bunce and I watched helplessly. My father and Fiona bursting into our room in Mummer’s House. Bunce was still asleep. Simon and I were curled up in my bed and I was stroking his hair and whispering comforting words in his ear.

_"Basilton, what in the name of magic is going on here?” my father asks. I’ve never seen him more livid. “Why are you and the Mage’s Heir…” He’s so enraged he can’t even find the words, but he gestures back and forth between us._

_“Simon and I are together father,” I say, trying to sound confident while wrapped around Simon Snow. Simon needs me now, and I can’t hide our relationship like this. Although this is not how I planned to tell my father. He looks apoplectic._

_"Since when?”_

_“Two or three days ago. But it’s not going anywhere.”_

_“The hell it isn’t.” He yanks his wand out of his sleeve. “_ **Lost time** _.” Everything goes blank._

When my head stops ringing, I look back at Simon. He’s grinning at me and it makes everything inside me melt.

This time, I kiss him.

SIMON

Baz and I are laying in his bed, arms still wrapped around each other. He’s twirling my curls around his finger and I’m tracing circles on his bare chest (his gloriously cold bare chest. Now I know why Annaliese always felt too hot.) Everything finally makes sense to me. This is why everyone else I dated felt wrong. Being with Baz feels like being home. Like this is where I was always meant to be.

I think I’m in love with him.

“Tell me what you’ve been up to,” I say. “I have no idea what happened to you after Watford.” He holds me closer.

“Law school, law firm. There’s not much else to tell.” I push him lightly.

“I know that’s not true.” He smiles and kisses me. It’s so good. I never want to kiss anyone else ever again.

“What about you?” he asks.

“I opened a martial arts studio. I teach sword and fighting skills, that sort of thing.” His eyes widen.

“That’s perfect Simon! I can’t imagine a better fit for you.” I blush because he seems so genuine. 

“It was Penny’s idea.”

“But you actually did it. Don’t let Bunce take all the credit.” I smile and bury my face in his chest. I’m deliriously happy and more than a little exhausted. I’m just starting to nod off when I hear Baz say my name.

“Simon.”

“Hmmm.”

“There’s something I need to tell you.” He sounds serious so I pull away from him to look at him properly. He looks pained. “I’m getting married tomorrow.”

I feel like he just punched me in the gut.

“You what?!” I shout, jumping away from him and bolting upright. “What the fuck Baz?!”

“It’s not what it sounds like,” he says, sitting up and trying to take my hand. I don’t let him. “It’s an arranged marriage. It’s all political. My father set it up.”

“And you couldn’t have told me before we…before we…” I can’t finish that sentence. I’ve never felt more betrayed. Baz looks like a puppy I've just kicked.

“I wasn’t thinking. I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for so long and you just showed up at my door and tackled me. What would you have done?”

“Not this! Merlin Baz, could you be more selfish? What about your poor fiancé?”

“Trust me, she won’t mind. She’s a lovely girl and she’s…”

“So you’re engaged to a lovely girl and you just decide to ignore all that and let me fuck your brains out because I showed up at your door? Great snakes Baz, what’s wrong with you?” I think there are tears in his eyes, but I can’t process that right now. I need to get out of here. I leap out of bed and try to find my clothes. I’m pulling up my jeans when Baz grabs my arm.

“Simon, please don’t leave. Let me explain.”

“No. You fucked up. You don’t get to just explain your way out of this.” I pull my arm out of his grasp and race out of the flat before he can see me cry.


	4. Best Wedding Ever

BAZ

I don’t think I’ve ever felt worse. I slept with Simon Snow last night. I know what he looks like with the moonlight on his bare skin. I know what he tastes like. I know how it feels to run my fingers through his bronze curls. And now, because I royally fucked up and broke his trust, I’ll never get to do it again.

Knowing makes it worse. Crowley, I’m an arse.

I should have told him about Rosalie earlier, but when I got my memories back all I could think about was him. She never even crossed my mind. If he had stayed, if he had let me explain, I would have told him everything. I would stop this marriage right now. I’d give it all up for him. If only I knew it would make him come back.

Instead, I put on my tuxedo and head to the Four Seasons.

My stepmother went all out with the wedding. Imported roses, sixteen piece orchestra, live peacocks. It’s hugely impressive and I can’t even appreciate it. I had accepted this marriage. I had even dared to hope that Rosalie and I could be happy, in our own twisted way. But last night changed everything. Now I know what true happiness could feel like. And it makes everything else seem futile.

I’m in the antechamber, pinning a rose into my lapel when my father and Pierre walk in. My father gives me the once over and nods his approval. I’m grateful that I’m a vampire for the first time in my life. My red ringed and bloodshot eyes have already cleared and there’s no trace that I spent all of last night sobbing. Pierre shakes my hand.

“Basilton, take care of my daughter. She’s very precious to me.” I don’t let my feelings show on my face. I don’t tell him that if she was really precious, he would let her choose her own spouse, no matter the gender.

“Of course,” I say instead. My father claps me on the shoulder.

“With this marriage, the truce is secure. This is a momentous day for our families. I’m proud of you Basil. Your mother would be too.” I keep my face impassive, because that’s what’s expected of me. But inside, I’m screaming. I’ve never been more furious with my father. He stole Simon Snow from me. And now he’s even bringing up my mother to remind me of my duty. That this political marriage will benefit the family, and I’m just a pawn in the family politics. That’s all I am. That’s all I’ve ever been. It feels morbidly comforting to realize that.

The music starts and we begin the processional. Rosalie looks stunning as she walks down the aisle towards me. Her dress is modest but tasteful, covered in elegant lace that’s somehow not gaudy. She’s spelled roses into her hair and they contrast beautifully with her blond curls. She’s smiling, and it seems genuine, so I do my best to smile back. Despite everything, I still care for her.

Rosalie reaches me and I hold out my hand to her.

“Ready for this?” I ask. She takes a deep breath and puts her hand in mind.

“I guess so.”

Suddenly, the door flies open and Simon Snow bursts through, red dragon wings on full display, wild look in his eye. He soars across the room, smooth as anything, and lands right in front of us. The crowd explodes in a combination of screams and applause, but Simon ignores all of them.

“Baz,” he says. He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing he can see. Like he didn’t just crash a wedding and fly through the air like a fucking superhero in front of 200 people. My heart leaps into my throat. 

He’s here. He came.

“Snow,” I say. I try to make it sound suave, but I can’t help the grin that crawls across my face. “What are you doing here?” He narrows his eyes.

“Just so you know, I’m still mad at you, so don’t think you’re getting off that easily. But your dad took you from me once. I won’t let him do it again.” He gives me a cheeky smirk. “Also, I left my favorite shirt at your flat, and I want it back.” I can’t help it. I laugh. I think it might be the most joyful sound I’ve ever made. Then I throw my arms around him and kiss him stupid.

“No one can take me away from you ever again,” I say. “I’m yours as long as you’ll have me.” The look Simon gives me turns my insides to jelly.

“Basilton, who’s this?” Great snakes, I forgot about Rosalie. There’s no anger in her expression, bless her. Just utter confusion.

“Rosalie, this is Simon Snow. The bloke I told you about.” I give her a knowing look. And dear, sweet Rosalie understands immediately.

“Really!” she says giddily, jumping up and down with joy. “Oh Basilton, I’m so happy for you!” I give her a wide smile.

“Cheers dear.” I turn back to Simon. “See, I told you she wouldn’t mind.” The look of relief on Simon’s face makes me want to kiss him again.

“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch!” Fuck a nine toed troll. I forgot everyone I know is here too. But nothing can touch me now, so I turn to face them. My father’s expression is almost comical. He’s turning purple and there’s a vein popping in his forehead. I don’t think he’s ever shown so much emotion before, and it’s straining his facial muscles. Pierre looks to be in a similar state. My stepmother is white-faced and shocked. And bloody Fiona is leaning back in her seat, arms crossed, feet up, looking smug as anything. I’ll hex her later. 

“Father,” I say, giving him a long, cool look. “I believe you’ve met Simon.” Because I can be a right bastard if I want to be. My father is not having it.

“What in the name of magic is going on here Basil?” he says. I look from Simon to Rosalie.

“Exactly what it looks like.” Both Simon and Rosalie chuckle. My father scowls.

“You get that half-crazed dragon spawn out of this room right now so we can continue the ceremony.”

“Hey!” Simon says, but he doesn’t sound all that offended. I wrap my arm around him anyway.

“He’s not going anywhere father. The wedding is off.” There’s a collective gasp from the crowd, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious that no one was getting married today.

“That is unacceptable Basilton,” my father says. “What about the truce?”

“The truce?” I look over at Rosalie and shrug. “We can still have a truce. Right Perrault?” Rosalie gives me an incredibly soft look.

“Absolutely,” she says.

“Rosalie!” Pierre is done with being an onlooker. He moves towards us and I step protectively in front of Rosalie to block her. “What is happening here?”

“What’s happening is…” but I stop when Rosalie places a hand on my shoulder. I look back at her and she shakes her head.

“It’s all right Basilton. I’ll tell him. I…I think I need to.” I nod and she steps out from behind me. Not much, but enough that she can look up at her father. Her hand doesn’t leave my shoulder and she’s squeezing it painfully. I can feel her shaking. But she stands up straight and faces her father and I adore her in this moment (I’m a sucker for stupidly brave people.)

“Father,” she says. “Basilton’s right. We can still have the truce. Truces are about friendship and trust, and Basilton has become one of my very dearest friends. But I don’t love him as a wife should. And I never will. Because I’m…I’m a lesbian.” Pierre looks like he just swallowed a lemon. I can’t leave her alone anymore.

“And I’m gay,” I add, as if my actions earlier hadn’t already made it painfully obvious. “And although Rosalie has become very special to me, Simon is the love of my life. And I think that’s all we really have to say to you people.” I grab Simon and Rosalie’s hands. 

“Run,” I whisper. All three of us move at once, almost knocking Pierre down in the process. We sprint down the aisle and out the door, then through the hotel to the front entrance where Penelope Bunce is waiting for us in a taxi.

“Took you long enough,” she says, giving us a wide smile. “Hello Baz.”

“Bunce,” I say giving her a nod. “I assume you’re the one who found the wedding.”

“Naturally. Simon would have torn down every hotel in England if left to his own devices.” I laugh. Because this moment needs more laugher. Then I kiss Simon, because this moment needs that too.

“I hate to interrupt,” Bunce says, “but drive now, snog later.” I can hear my father yelling for me from the hotel lobby.

“For once Bunce, I have to admit you’re right.” We pile into the car, wings, wedding dress, and all, and drive off, just as the hotel doors burst open and our families pour onto the sidewalk. I put my arms around Simon and Rosalie and kiss them both on the cheek.

“Best wedding ever,” I say. We all laugh.

BAZ

_One Year Later_

“Basil dear, are we out of powdered sugar?” I glance up from where I’m reading on the couch to see Rosalie digging around in the wrong cabinet.

“I bought some last week,” I say. “It’s next to the spices.”

“Where…oh here it is! Thanks.”

“Smells good in there.” Rosalie grins. She has flour on her cheek and all over her apron.

“I made those brownies Simon likes.” I smile at her.

“I’m sure he’ll be pleased.”

Turns out, I ended up living with Rosalie after all, though not in the way anyone expected. She had already moved most of her things into my flat before the wedding, and I had a spare bedroom, so it just made sense. Plus, her father didn’t speak to her for a few months after our little stunt at the wedding and she had nowhere else to go. I was worried she’d be depressed about that, but she’s thriving. I think she really needed to get out from under her father’s restrictive thumb. She just finished her first year at Uni and she finally started dating. She’s been with the same girl, Lilah, for a few months now. Nice girl. A bit excitable, but I think that’s been good for Rosalie. She’s certainly more relaxed now than she ever was before.

I hear a key scrape in the door and Simon and Bunce waltz in like they own the place (they are here often enough. I have more comfortable furniture. And bedsheets.)

“I brought curry,” Bunce says, holding up a large brown paper bag.

“I can smell that,” I say. Simon comes over and gives me a kiss. He tastes like chocolate and powdered sugar.

“I see brownies rated higher than me.” He gives me a sheepish grin.

“Only slightly.” He puts his mouth right up against my ear. His breath tickles and I can feel his lips and tongue move when he talks. “I’ll make it up to you later.” I shiver. A year into our relationship and he can still reduce me to mush in seconds.

“I’ll take it,” I say before kissing him again.

“Less snogging more eating,” Bunce says, coming out of the kitchen with Rosalie and a stack of plates. “I’m starving.”

“Is Lilah coming?” Simon asks as we settle around the table and dole out curry. Rosalie shakes her head.

“She’s on holiday in France for the week.” There’s an uncomfortable silence. Rosalie hasn’t been back to France. She hasn’t seen her family since the wedding. She talks to her brothers often enough, but her father is still bitter. Her conversations with him are short and curt and often leave her in tears.

Frankly, I don’t know what he’s so upset about. The truce with the Grimm’s went fine. I think our fathers bonded over how angry they were at us. I’ve managed to mend things with my father to some extent. I suspect my stepmother had something to do with it. She never really liked the idea of the arranged marriage (I mean Merlin, it was an _arranged marriage_. Plus, she’s never been quite as bothered by my homosexuality.) My father and I haven’t really spoken about what happened at the wedding, or about the memory wipe, but I brought both Simon and Rosalie home for Christmas, and he didn’t bat an eye, which is as much of a peace offering as I think I will ever get from him.

“We should go on holiday,” Bunce says to lighten the mood. “The four of us.”

“Where?” Simon askes. Bunce shrugs.

“Literally anywhere. America’s nice.”

“I want to go to Italy,” Rosalie says. They continue discussing possible holiday locals, and Simon slips his hand into mine under the table. I lace our fingers together and squeeze. I never believed this was possible. That I could have the love of my life holding my hand as my closest friends make plans for our collective future. It all seems too good to be true.

Maybe my life isn’t such a tragedy after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading :) This is such a fun fandom. I'd love to know what you thought :) Thanks again!!


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